


Letting Go

by wellsmonroe (authorisasauthordoes)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, people get drunk and stupid stuff is said, stupid being emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8608993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorisasauthordoes/pseuds/wellsmonroe
Summary: Now that the news is out, that the secret of the nuclear meltdown is no longer solely on his and Clarke’s shoulders, he’s done caring. Bellamy Blake is no longer going to expend all his energy on watching out for everyone else, cleaning up all their messes.Bellamy Blake is letting go. Believe it.





	

“Raise your glasses to the end of the world!”

Bellamy cheers along with the rest of the delinquents and downs another shot, long past maintaining his steely authoritative demeanor. Now that the news is out, that the secret of the nuclear meltdown is no longer solely on his and Clarke’s shoulders, he’s done caring. Bellamy Blake is no longer going to expend all his energy on watching out for everyone else, cleaning up all their messes.

Sure, he’s still keeping an eye on Monty to make sure he doesn’t go overboard. Sure, he’s keeping a look out for Octavia to see if she actually shows up to the party. And yes, he is hovering to make sure no one tries to take advantage of Raven while she’s loosened up. Of course, Raven could certainly handle herself, but he just likes to check and make sure.

Bellamy Blake is letting go. Believe it.

He skirts his way around the others and makes his way through the crowd, making an active effort not to accidentally bump anyone too hard. He almost trips over someone’s foot and fumbles to catch them, relieved to see Clarke’s blonde head against his chest before she looks up and smiles at him.

“Thanks, Bellamy,” she says loudly.

“Of course,” he says immediately, realizing how difficult words are to form at this point. “You know I’ll always catch you.”

She blinks for a moment, before smirking. “I _meant_ thanks for tripping me. It was _sarcasm_.”

“Oh.”

“But then you made it sweet.”

He shrugs, a small smile growing across his face. “Don’t think I know how to be anything else.”

Clarke cracks up. Both of them know how rarely sweetness is present in their lives, whether they’re giving or receiving it.

Bellamy is acutely aware of how much he’d like to be sweet to Clarke. Constantly. He wants to catch her fumbles and remind her how brave and creative and inspirational she is. He wants to tell her all this and more, all the time. More so when the alcohol is talking.

Clarke’s brow suddenly furrows, and she shuts her eyes. “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” she laughs half-heartedly, pressing her palms to her eyes. “The nuclear apocalypse isn’t just going to wait around while I get drunk off my ass.”

“Hey, I said it to you once and I’ll say it again,” he says slowly, fighting the alcohol to choose his words carefully. He reaches to take Clarke’s hands from her face, waiting for her to meet his eyes. “You deserve to have some fun.”

It must be the influence, but Clarke doesn’t pull away from his hands. She sighs, tilting her head to the side. When she opens her eyes, she pouts. “Even now?”

Bellamy nods, not dropping eye contact with her. “Especially now.”

He moves his hand to touch her face, but decides against it halfway there and lays a firm pat on her shoulder instead. Friendly, that’s all they are. Companions in war, in survival, not in anything else that Bellamy may or may not think about quite a lot, even when he’s sober.

The moment is interrupted as Raven approaches them, grinning widely. “Glad to see you’re both enjoying yourselves,” she says matter-of-factly. “Cause after tonight, we’re going to have a _hell_ of a lot of work to do if we want to stop this second doomsday.”

“Raven, it’s a nuclear meltdown. How we going to stop that?”

“You’re forgetting—,” Raven begins, taking another long drink from the cup in her hand. She exhales, holding the cup up high. “We have me. And I can do anything.”

“Modest, too,” Bellamy laughs.

Raven lets the cup drop, holding out her arms and shrugging. “I’ve made my point.” She backs away, still smiling at the pair of them. “Don’t do anything stupid, now.”

Clarke and Bellamy wave her off, ignoring her knowing laugh as she saunters away. _There’s nothing for her to know_ , Bellamy reasons. He’s not hiding anything. Not really.

Clarke touches his arm lightly, bringing his attention back to her. Her intense eyes and casual smirk and beautifully blonde hair, glowing like gold in the firelight.

Well, if he is hiding it, he knows he’s doing a shit job of it.

“I should go,” she says reluctantly, losing her train of thought the longer she looks at him. “You know, make sure no one is pushing it too hard in light of the news.”

“Right,” Bellamy agrees. He pats her shoulder as she saunters off, managing impressively to walk with her usual powerful stride. Even drunk, she’s a force to be reckoned with. He’s pretty sure that’s the thing he loves about her most.

Likes. Appreciates. Admires. Love being an objective term.

An old quotation runs through Bellamy’s head, but he can’t remember where it’s from. Not any of his Greek literature, that’s for sure. But it’s apt as he watches Clarke pass through the crowd, commanding respect with her mere presence.

 _Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go_.

Bellamy turns on his heel and forces himself to detach, heading into the nearest tent.

He’s somewhat surprised to find Jasper standing in the shelter alone, sorting through bullet shells and generally avoiding the party. Jasper has always been at the center of celebration, practically a force of festivity himself. Seeing him closed-off, alone, avoiding the revelry—it sets off something emotional in Bellamy. Something paternal. It almost sobers him up.

Almost.

“Jasper,” he says gruffly, causing the scrawny boy to jump and acknowledge his presence. “What are you doing in here?”

“Uh, just sorting stuff,” Jasper replies, avoiding eye contact with him and continuing the work. “Raven said we’d need it done. So, I’m doing it.”

Bellamy makes it to the table across from Jasper and knocks his knuckles against the wood. “I meant, why are you here alone working and not out there with the others?” His expression softens. “You should be relaxing too.”

“I doubt a nuclear apocalypse is going to relax for the evening.”

“No, no, it is. Clarke and I decided it. So, it is.”

Jasper looks at Bellamy for a long moment, a small smile forming at the edge of his lips. “Well, I can certainly tell _you’ve_ been celebrating.”

Bellamy shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively, stumbling a bit into the stool next to him. Jasper cracks up and Bellamy gives up attempting to be professional, slumping onto the stool and shaking his hair out of his face. “Well, like I said, you should be too. I’m sure Monty’s wondering where you are right now.”

Jasper rolls his eyes, tossing a shell into the bucket in front of him. “I’m sure Monty is completely fine drinking with Harper.” He recognizes the bitterness in his tone and clears his throat, changing the subject. “So you and Clarke declared it, huh? She celebrating, too?”

“Oh, yes. But only because we made it clear that the apocalypse was waiting. She had the same instinct as you,” Bellamy clarifies, reaching forward and patting Jasper’s arm proudly. “I think both of you need to loosen up.”

“Us? Loosen up? Coming from you, Bellamy Blake?”

Bellamy shrugs, lifting his hands in surrender. “Bellamy Blake is letting go, Jasper. Bellamy Blake is chill now.”

“Bellamy Blake is talking in the third person,” Jasper says, leaning forward on his elbows. He narrows his eyes. “If you’re so chill, will you be one hundred percent honest with me if I ask you a question, right now?”

“I’m an open book.”

“Seriously?”

“Letting go, Jasper. Letting. Go.”

Jasper’s expression is full of amusement. “Alright. Then tell me. What do you think of Clarke Griffin?”

It’s a trap. It’s a trap, and Bellamy knows it. Because he’s so bad at hiding things and he’s so very _not_ chill and everyone knows exactly how he feels about Clarke Griffin and he’ll never, ever admit it sober. He’s been good about hiding it intoxicated, too.

But the longer he thinks about it, thinks about the fact that they are quite literally surviving the apocalypse, and everything could go to shit in less than six months, and that he only has that much time left to even consider—

“She is brilliant,” he sighs, placing his chin on his hand and giving Jasper a deflated look. “She is absolutely, positively brilliant.”

“Oh, wow,” Jasper starts, but Bellamy’s not finished.

“She’s a _force_ , you know what I mean? She is willful and strategic and strong, so strong. She’s the bravest person I’ve ever met. She’s stubborn, frustratingly so, she can’t let things go. But that’s the best thing about her, she’ll fight to the finish. Every god damn time. And when she smiles, oh man—,”

“Alright, alright, I think I got it, chill Bellamy. I got it.”

Bellamy sighs again, hiding his head in his hands before dropping them onto the table. “Float me, Jasper. I’m in love with her. I’m so in love with her.”

Jasper smiles, lightly patting Bellamy’s hand. “We know, man. We know.”


End file.
